


The Colours of Blue

by MyBlackCrimsonRose



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Domestic, Established Relationship, Homosexuality, M/M, Oral Sex, Slice of Life, Tattoos, pansexuality, talk of marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:11:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7330801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyBlackCrimsonRose/pseuds/MyBlackCrimsonRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew all too much about the colour blue. He was obsessed with finding the colour that best described the man’s hair, his eyes, the rich blue tones that he’d wear at times, and the tattoos that seemed to sweep over his skin. Always growing, always evolving.<br/>Did you ever stop to think how many types of blue there were? What those blues could possibly mean? What could they possibly represent? What they resembled?<br/>Ever since he had met Grimmjow those two years ago, he had grown addicted to the sight of blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colours of Blue

**Author's Note:**

> The song lyrics belong to Regina Spektor's "Blue Lips" so if you need some music to read with its heavily suggested you go with that. 
> 
> Also, there's more than just the Grimmjow/Ichigo relationship in this. But, those two are the focus so I only tagged those two.

He knew all too much about the colour blue. He was obsessed with finding the colour that best described the man’s hair, his eyes, the rich blue tones that he’d wear at times, and the tattoos that seemed to sweep over his skin. Always growing, always evolving.

Did you ever stop to think how many types of blue there were? What those blues could possibly mean? What could they possibly represent? What they resembled?

Ever since he had met Grimmjow those two years ago, he had grown addicted to the sight of blue.

Back when his friend had introduced them when Ichigo had told Renji he had planned to get inked. Renji was only an apprentice tattoo artist at the time.

As a paramedic it’s not like he couldn’t have the kiss of ink prickled along his skin, as long as it was _tasteful_. He had made sure to question his superiors beforehand, not wanting to lose his career over the fact that he wanted some black ink along his arms. Ichigo had even shown them the designs, just to cover his own ass.

At first Ichigo had thought that Renji would to the inking himself, as it was the man’s profession just as it was Grimmjow’s, but his friend had denied it. Grimmjow had done his ink and seeing that Ichigo’s own design reminded both of them of Renji’s work on his skin it was only fitting that they went to the source.

The blue haired man was a _fully practiced_ professional.

 **[** _He stumbled into faith and thought,_  
"God, this is all there is."  
The pictures in his mind arose **]**

Hoar, that’s the colour of blue-grey that his skin had been cast into. His naked back exposed to the night air; swirling sky blue, steal blue and Yankees blue shapes sweeping over the expansion of his back. Ichigo walked his fingers up the muscles, over the bumps and grooves of his spine. His torso rising and falling as he slept with his face tucked towards the moonlight seeping through the sliver between his curtains.

He leaned in pressing one lingering kiss to the man’s shoulder before slipping out of his bed. Ichigo, with muscle memory alone, waltzed around any fallen clothes littered along the wood flooring. Quietly pushing the closest door open, grabbing his paramedic uniform, before tip toeing back towards the dresser close to the bed to pull out a fresh pair of boxers.

He slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft _click_ , before throwing the material to the counter and going about preparing for work with a quick shower. He had spent a little more time than he should’ve just watching his lover sleep, enjoying the moments of calm before a promised night of stress.

It was a Thursday now, Ichigo had to run the date by his mind twice while showering, brushing his teeth between washing his hair and then his body. All in an effort to save a few minutes of time. He’ll be at the hospital for 3AM, typically right about the time when the more daunting bars would be finally kicking out the last of the lingering patrons for them to stumble their asses’ home. Thirsty Thursdays; drinks are cheap during those days, even more so during a certain few hours.

He was toweling off the last of his hair, pants on but unbuckled, as Grimmjow stumbled into the bathroom and to the toilet without a hint of hesitation. Why would he? They’ve been dating for more than half a year now, and have called each other begrudgingly _friends_ longer than that. Ichigo rolled his eyes, looking away from the half-naked man when he sighed, the tell-tale sign of piss hitting the water greeting his ears.

He tossed the towel into the hamper, pulling on his uniform shirt now that he wouldn’t drip water all over it. The toilet flushed and a head of French sky blue hair appeared beside him in the mirror, reaching out to the skin to wash his hands. Ichigo stepped out of his way, smiling to himself as the man sleepily went about the task before stumbling back out the door without bothering to dry his hands.

Ichigo followed after him, turning off the lights as he left. Grimmjow was laying on his back when he returned to bed, kneeling over the man to press one last kiss before he left. “Love you, Grimm. I’ll stop in at the parlor on my way home.”

The man only groaned, rolling towards him as he pulled away. His face nuzzling into the pillow Ichigo always used.

 **[** _And began to breathe_  
And all the gods and all the worlds  
Began colliding on a backdrop of blue **]**

Orihime called out to him as he left, keys jingling in his hand as he twirled them—not that he was going to be driving. It was a habit he had gotten into while he was working through his paramedic training. The rhythmic movement of his finger as he twirled the keys round his forefinger had a calming effect when nothing else seemed to do the trick.

She was an old friend from elementary school—real old friend. Back when they were fifteen he had attempted to date her. Back when he didn’t understand that there were such things as different types of love—you love your friends, you love your family. Yes, but there was different types of love. Just because you feel love for a person didn’t mean that you found them appealing in all relationship aspects.

It was through her love, her friendship and tender affection, her unbiased dedication to wish for him to be a better person that he learned a life lesson about himself he had never felt comfortable in confronting. He was _gay_. He _is_ gay.

It was through that, the test of a relationship between two close friends, that not only had he came to his own conclusion but she had as well. It had failed, crashed and burned, in the romantic aspect—sexually both had shuttered away from the thought. Orihime had been in love with the idea of being with him, and he had been confused in the concept of love.

Ichigo wrapped an arm around her shoulder, hugging her against his side so he could lean in to peck the woman’s temple. Her own arm wrapped around his waist as together they walked towards the station to board their train home. “You’re still coming to my wedding at the end of the month right?” her melodic voice lit up the world around her.

Ichigo smiled, “of course.”

The hospital they both worked at had assumed once that they were in a romantic relationship… up until the point where each prefecture in Japan started to legalize gay marriage and Orihime and her girlfriend (now fiancée) got engaged and the busty orange haired woman had loudly started to gush about her upcoming wedding day and the fact that she, in her own words, was marrying the most beautiful and spectacular woman in the world.

Had Ichigo yet mentioned the fact that Orihime was a panromantic homosexual? Because that was a very big part of who Orihime is. And another big part in the whole tale of how he came into understanding the romantic attraction and the sexual attraction part of his own self.

He lucked out in the sense that his romantic orientation was the same as his sexual one, never having to question himself if was a romantic attraction he was feeling opposed to a sexual one and what that _meant_.

She stared up at him, “do you think your boyfriend would be coming? You have a plus one and I believe you RSVP’ed for one.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully before giving up halfway through her musing to shrug. “I’ll just check when I get home~” They chuckled, smiling at each other before parting to make their way down the stairs without fear of tripping and taking the other down with them.

It’s happened before.

**[** _Blue lips, blue veins…_ **]**

It was five when Ichigo finally walked in the door of Starless, the tattoo parlor that both Renji and Grimmjow worked at. “Grimmjow! The stripper’s here!” the man at the counter chuckled to himself, going back to his sketches. One of the guns stopped buzzing and Grimmjow’s head perked up to look at whom his colleague spoke of.

Brandeis blue eyes snapping up, befalling upon his lover before snorting and returning to his work. Ichigo grinned in retort, “there’s nothing sexy about this outfit!” Ichigo called back to the man behind the counter.

“Not in _that_ version. I _know_ what kinky shit you’re into, Ichigo.” And _that_ , ladies and gentlemen, is why Ichigo stopped enjoying coming into Starless since his twin moved back to town and started working here. Shiro was a _shit_.

The red head flustered, sputtering as he flailed. Wanting to both strangle the man and just cover his mouth when instead of Grimmjow looking up from his work it was Renji who waggled his eyebrows at him. His twin winked, nodding to the couch where Ichigo could wait for Grimmjow to be finished with his walk-in.

 **[** _He took a step but then felt tired_  
He said, "I'll rest a little while"  
But when he tried to walk again **]**

They weren’t living together, not yet, though Ichigo’s things had started to fill each and every look nook and cranny. Slowly merging with Grimmjow’s, blending the man’s apartment into an assortment of miscellaneous shit. A plethora of colours assaulting Ichigo’s retinas as he opened the closest, dress shirts that he hadn’t yet seen the man wearing graced his eyes. Whites and greens, purples and blues. Pushing the colours aside, Ichigo pulled out a hanger and hung up his freshly washed work uniforms.

He had five; five allowed him to get by without doing too much laundry by the end of the week.

Six months wasn’t long enough of a relationship to move in with someone—at least, that’s what Ichigo felt. No matter how long he knew Grimmjow for, no matter how comfortable it was to spend his days off here and his nights (well, if he was able to) beside the man it wasn’t yet long enough to throw away the possibility of returning back to his place if something were to happen between them.

One of Grimmjow’s two cats sat stock still, staring at him from her perch on top of the dresser. She was the Queen of the house, no arguments needed. With her stunning eggshell white fur, always so bright and white, and her ocean blue coloured eyes she’d perch and watch the two human’s like they were but an amusing pastime.

How could a cat have eyes that blue? He’d never seen them stay that colour once they grew out of their young kitten-hood. But here she was, blue eyes shining like a clear Hawaiian ocean—still and sparkling.

He moved the basket of clean clothes from the bed to the dresser beside the bright white cat. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head when she leaned up for it, a tilt of her head in his direction. Pantera let out a pleased sound before laying down, crossing her front paws over the other. There was a thud from the living room before the other cat came tearing in, full of beans. His paws skid across the flooring as he ran into the bedroom before he took off back out.

Both Ichigo and Pantera stared at the intrusion, gaze leveled with the doorway in case the hyper feline made his entrance anew. He did not; the sound of a bell chimed as the cat attacked one of his toys in the next room. “What a weirdo,” Ichigo mumbled, shaking his head fondly. Returning to his housekeeping—someone had to do the laundry around here ‘cause Grimmjow had a habit of dyeing Ichigo’s lights grey or a pale blue from all the blues and black in his wardrobe.

 **[** _He wasn't a child_  
And all the people hurried fast, real fast  
And no one ever smiled **]**

They started the whole thing from a sexual escapade that never really finished. He had gone home with the Brandeis blue eyed man on a Friday night. It had been a rare weekend that they both had off; the _hanging out_ started when they met up for pool and beers at one of the pubs close to the tattoo parlor, and when the place closed for the evening neither felt like passing out. Grimmjow’s place was closer, they went there, they cracked open another round of beer. The alcohol warming Ichigo’s blood, the pleasant atmosphere lulling him into a loose limbed ease.

Grimmjow had smiled at him, the aquamarine tattoos around the bottom and sides of his eyes crinkled as he grinned. Large pearly white teeth shined and eyes completely closed—Ichigo was never much of a cat person before meeting the man, but he noticed that when cats were pleased and comfortable they’d close their eyes slowly. Like they were smiling just like that.

His fingers had tangled through the hair along the nape of the man’s neck without him making a conscious effort to, pulling him in to seal their lips together. It could’ve been the beers, the little liquid courage, or the night or maybe even just the man in general but neither regretted the action that sparked the best weekend that Ichigo had yet to have in his twenty-five years of life. Neither had left the bed much for anything—and never without the other trailing behind a few minutes later.

Grimmjow had explained once why he had been so enthusiastic in switching—trust. He didn’t like having himself opened up to his sex partner if he didn’t trust them. When he bottomed, because both of them liked the reversible roles and hated sticking to the one trick pony routine, he wanted to be able to lose himself and trust that his partner would take care of him until he was back to being his regular snappy self.

But despite Grimmjow stating this, the man had a fascination with Ichigo’s ass.  An ass that he regularly fondled no matter who topping—and if the sky blue haired man was, then the fondling only grew more prominent.

Like how it was at that exact moment.

69’ing was a type of sexual escapade that was favoured by teenagers and those who were into getting off quick without the work of preparation and penetrative sex (in their case it would be anal as to both lacking a key body part for vaginal sex), and in this case it held true for at least one of those points. The shifts that Ichigo had been working conflicted with the downtime when Grimmjow would be getting home—more often than naught one would have just left the apartment when the other was returning, only knowing that the other had been there from the moisture in the bathroom or a note left on the fridge.

So it was safe to say they were both frustrated by the lack of sex in their regularly established sexual relationship. It was the longest yet that they’ve gone without sex—without even so much as a _kiss_ from the other. But they were quickly making up for the lost time now. Throwing away any semblance of control and pride, Ichigo had cleaned and cleaned himself _again_ just to avoid any complaints, before marching into the bedroom and sitting on his lover’s face.

He nipped at one of Ichigo’s flushed red cheeks, wetting his lips with the excess saliva pooling in his mouth. Exhaling against the wet, slightly gaping hole. Opened not just from his own endeavors but the thorough cleaning the sunset orange haired man had cleansed himself with—he smelt of lingering soap and the faint musk of the man’s sex as he dripped pre-cum against Grimmjow’s collarbones, tasting just of skin. “You should have texted me,” Grimmjow hissed, comment cutting off as his hips jerked as Ichigo sucked at his cock head. Neither had yet parted to reach towards the lube sitting pretty on the side table; the large bottle filled with murky water based lube just taunting Grimmjow when he brushed his thumb over the man’s puckered entrance.

Saliva dried too quickly for Grimmjow’s sake—he’d torn his anus from fucking without proper lubricant and to say he’d never do it again was a gross understatement. Grimmjow had a precedent in which to gauge these things by and it was called _a history_ —or ‘been there done that’ as he’d like to casually avoid the topic with.

Do you know how hard it is to keep your ass from getting infected?

 _That_ relationship didn’t last long after Grimmjow made his then partner throw out those bloodied sheets and change them—in fact it didn’t last until the end of that night. He had broken up with the other man while he was cleaning his ass in the shower.

He wouldn’t have _that ass_ be affected by something so easily avoided—plus, even without enough lube it could be awkward for both parties. It makes it harder to actually get it in. “And why’s that?” Ichigo hummed in return, laying his cheek on the man’s thigh. Watching as his own wrist twisted at the up of each stroke, eyeing the pearl of pre-cum gathering at the man’s slit.

“So I have room to eat as much ass as possible,” he could hear him grinning, watching his own thumb tease the sensitive rim. Ichigo snorted, biting the inside of his cheek in efforts to keep himself from bellowing out in laughter. “But I also really want to fuck you. So what do you want? To fuck or for me to continue eating you out?”

 _Fuck_. Ichigo’s brain supplied as soon as the question was poised; no hesitation. He patted Grimmjow’s leg before lifting his leg and rolling off, the arc carrying his limb just above the man’s head. They shared a grin as Grimmjow leaned over, reaching to grab the container of lube that had been taunting him. Returning to the other just as Ichigo stationed himself on his stomach, laying on Grimmjow’s side of the bed with his pillow firmly tucked against his chest and neck.

“Option one it is then!”

 **[** _Blue lips, blue veins_  
Blue, the color of our planet  
From far, far away **]**

Every second month Ichigo returns home with Shiro (and now Grimmjow) in tow for a _family dinner_ , as his father so insisted. There was nothing as pitiful as listening to his grown ass Father sob into the phone that all his children have left the nest and that he hardly saw them anymore—or, seeing that both Yuzu and Karin tended to visit (one because she was a sweetheart and loved their Dad dearly, and the other because of the promise of free food and shared the same mentality as Ichigo when it came to their Father’s crying), just his sons who didn’t _love him_ anymore.

Because of the fact that they were _all grown up_ (as Isshin liked to say) family dinner turned into family plus significant other dinner where even Karin caved and brought long-time boyfriend with her. At least, for poor Ichigo’s heart, Shiro had not once brought someone with him—maybe because he lacked the significant other (though Ichigo _knew_ that his twin was sleeping with someone… or multiple someone’s) or he just didn’t feel like it. Though… now that Ichigo brought up his own musing of the topic he was left to remember the first time he brought Grimmjow with him.

Both Shiro and Grimmjow had, without Ichigo being any wiser, had decided to play up some _idea_ of Shiro and Ichigo both dating him. It didn’t help that when Ichigo denied this Shiro had decide that it had been the perfect moment to grab a handful of a navy jean covered ass while nipping at Grimmjow’s jaw. The denial had done nothing to warrant any belief from the rest of his family, not while during the meal itself those two kept leering at each other. It was only well into the night, around the time that Ichigo was leaving to head back home (he had a shift in six hours and he didn’t want to sleep in his father’s house that night) that the orange haired man had snapped warranting both his brother and his own significant other to admit to the rather childish joke of theirs.

He found Karin easy after leaving both the significant other and his twin at the door to deal with Isshin; falling into the seat open by her feet, Ichigo seemed to melt into the cushions. “Is it Shiro, Grimmjow, or Dad? Or all of the above?” Ichigo grunted. “All of the above it is!”

She sat up, wrapping her arms around her legs. The noise growing closer, migrating finally from the door. Ichigo hung his head, “they’re all just _exhausting_.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots.

Karin shifted, crawling the distance between them to lean against the man. Tucking her head in against his shoulder as he stewed with the knowledge that his family (this included his significant other) was fucking nuts. He’d be halfway to grey by his thirtieth birthday if he kept this up.

Maybe if he went white instead of the grey he’d be able to pull it off—after all, Shiro seems to have the white-blond look doing well for him. And then there was Karin’s boyfriend too, the poor kid, that had white as snow hair. Those two alone seemed to be fairing just fine with their odd hair colour. At least _they_ didn’t have to watch in growing angst as grey strands of hair would appear amongst the coloured strands.

He was _fourteen_ when he spotted the first grey right at his temple. That was the day that _he_ had kicked his Father down the stairs that morning, yelling like some Banshee.

Karin patted his knee, comfortable with her resting position against her elder brother. The sounds from the kitchen as Yuzu, and most likely Toshiro as well, went about preparing enough food to feed the Kurosaki family. “How are you?” Ichigo finally spoke, snapping himself out of his own inner musings.

Karin shrugged, one shoulder lifting always just a pinch higher than the other. “Been thinking of kids lately,” she admitted like it was the weather. A statement she had no doubt tossed around at others for a while by how calm she was. In her early teens she had denied the thought of having kids; too much work, not wanting to deal with the pain, too much money. Anything and everything was snapped out and directed towards distant relatives who came and visited—teasing her about her close friendship with then-best friend Toshiro.

“Oh?” Ichigo wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tucking her further into his side. The voices of both Shiro and his Father approached the living room.

The young woman nodded. “Since Yuzu…” she trailed off with a wince. Remembering the car accident that had cut the other’s dreams of being pregnant and having children short, down to thoughts of the irksome adoption process and the wait and money that went with it. “I,” Karin sighed, “Since that… _mess_ , I kept thinking of how much she used to gush about having babies and it’s just… I don’t see the hype, but I can see the small enjoyments that could come from it.” Again she shrugged.

“You shouldn’t decide based on that, Karin.” He knew she knew, but as a big brother it was his job to state it _anyways_. Just in case.

The girl snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah yeah. I’m not doing this for anyone _but_ myself. I’m just saying that I can see some silver lining in _that_. Plus it won’t be until I’m like… twenty-five or something. Enough time still to figure my shit out.”

Like Twenty-five was the magic number that suddenly made it seem like you were much more of an adult. That you could _handle_ adulting—what a weird word for it. _He_ was twenty-five and all he felt like he was prepared for was debt and death. _Dying_ in debt. There, that would be more accurate. And it didn’t seem to look much more pretty at twenty-seven if Grimmjow’s laying around in his underwear while consuming a whole tub of ice cream over the rare weekends he had off was anything to go from.

The couch jostled as the blue haired devil of a man fell, situating himself comfortably beside his complimentary coloured lover. His ankle comfortably crossed, resting upon his knee as he wrapped his arm around Ichigo, pulling both of the Kurosaki siblings towards him. “Your brother and Father started up an argument on who deserves the right to own the singing fish. Shiro wants it so he can piss off Renji at work.”

Ah yes, the _fish_. Mr. Almighty-Walla-Walla-Shitface. As three of the four Kurosaki children liked to call that horrid singing automatonic mess—Shiro and Ichigo named him when they were _seven_ , don’t question his name.

“I don’t want Mr. Almighty-shit-stain at work. _I_ actually need to concentrate.” Grimmjow leaned in, curling against Ichigo much like how Karin still was. Mourning his growing loss of sanity that only diminished the longer Shiro and Isshin fought in the hallway for.

 **[** _Blue lips, blue veins_  
Blue, the color of our planet  
From far, far away **]**

Sunday, just another end of the week—or the start of others. Growing up it was always _wrong_ to think that the week both ended and started with the weekend. From the calendars that he always had pinned to his wall the week started with a Sunday, ending with the Saturday. No matter what anyone said, it always felt _wrong_.

Ichigo groaned, tossing his keys onto the table by the front door before toeing off his shoes. Grimmjow only kept one pair of slippers that only the guests that Ichigo tended to bring over used. Neither of the couple liked wearing them when socks were the perfect alternative (and that was stretching it in Grimmjow’s case as the man _hated_ socks). The television blaring as he walked towards the figure comfortably reclined along the pillows.

Both Pantera and Desgarron took up their positions on the man’s chest and thighs. The Queen watching with large Ocean blue eyes, lighter now in the sunlight, as her Human spooned out another heaping collection of his frozen treat. The tub of cookies ‘n cream ice cream still had a patch of frost melting near the bottom rim; he had actually _moved_ since falling into the couch it seems.

The case of beer left untouched only showed how right Ichigo’s assumptions were. The man had only left for his ritual ice cream, not even bothering to cool the room temperature beers so he could enjoy them later. No, instead Grimmjow was behaving like a beast.

“Put some pants on,” Ichigo grumbled, eyeing the azure boxer briefs clinging to _everything_. Those were Ichigo’s, and now he’d never be able to comfortably pull them off with the mental image of his partner in them. That fucker.

Brandeis blue swept from the television to him, narrowing and casing the tattoos along the corner and under parts of his eyes to crinkle. “How about you put your pretty mouth on my cock,” and eyebrow arched up, daring him to play along.

But Ichigo was _exhausted_. A thirteen hour shift, fourteen emergency calls that they had reported to. Two of which were DOA. He was tired, he was cranky—he could point a partial part of his frustrations towards the fact that he hadn’t had time to jack off for the last few days (don’t even mention sex). But before that he needed at least four hours of sleep.

At least.

Ichigo rounded the couch, reaching over and patting the man’s head of sky blue hair as he passed. “Later. Sleep first, sex later.” He was twenty-five years old, he should know how his body would handle sex by this point. And through his experience Ichigo’s mind screamed that he’d only cockblock himself in the middle of it when he’d promptly pass out. Boner or not.

Grimmjow only spooned another clump of ice cream into his mouth.

 **[** _He stumbled into faith and thought,_  
"God, this is all there is."  
The pictures in his mind arose  
And began to breathe **]**

Nails dug into the tanned skin swirled with colours ranging from the light icy cool blue to a deep Japanese indigo. The colours blending and swirling together from the backdrop of his large back piece of a white and black panther, their eyes opposite colours as their fur. It hadn’t been his idea for the ying-yang symbolic nature of the piece, but the striking opposition was rather near and dear to his heart. It was his first; go big or go home. The backgrounds of blues swept down his arms, blending into his sleeves, and even started to expand over his shoulders and neck to the front of his torso as well.

He could hear the game show still playing on the TV from the other room. The man sighed, grip falling to the tattooed man’s elbow. Holding on as the other pistoned his hips, his thick cock stretching his innards when he adjusted his grip on his lover’s leg, changing the angle of his thrusts. “Feel so fucking good,” the man purred, head tossed back as he lost himself in the other’s body.

Ichigo clung, mouth agape, clutching onto the man as his body felt the type of pleasure he had desperately started to crave. “Right there!” he called out, biting back a wail when the man pushed his knee further down, prying his legs all the wider so he could continue hitting that same spot. Over and over and over again. His legs shook, nails biting into Grimmjow’s soft inner arms. Balls slapping against his ass.

He was desperate; chasing after that release the taunted him. Teasing him like the incoming tide, every second it’ll wash closer and closer with each wave. Until you were suddenly waist deep, then finally under. Swept away by some undercurrent.

Ichigo saw the ocean when he came. Beautiful sparkling ocean blues; always watching.

 **[** _And no one saw and no one heard_  
They just followed the lead  
The pictures in his mind awoke  
And began to breed **]**

Fingers fanned out upon that tanned skin, fingers curling to cup the man’s pectoral. His chest rising, falling—steady, even. There shouldn’t be a reason why he was up. The man’s sleeping face turned away from him, pointed towards the window. He always did tend to face the window when he slept.

He pushed himself up onto an elbow, hand still splayed out upon Grimmjow’s chest. Leaning over the man now, no longer wrapped up in his heat and embrace, taking in the sheets pooled around their waists. It was cool that night, both breaking out their pajama pants that they had stored away since the spring. Grimmjow was like a furnace; radiating heat, containing it as well. They never had to sleep with more than a sheet and comforter during the winter.

Ichigo traced a finger over the man’s collar bone, continuing upwards up the tendon of his neck. He was beautiful—something Ichigo would never tell him. No need for the man’s ego to swell any further about his looks. He pressed a whisper of a kiss to the man’s chin, to his jaw, to his neck. Pulling away when he snorted, nuzzling further into his pillow.

The curtains weren’t blackout, light from outside still slipping through. Washing the pair in faint, mystic lighting. So beneficial for romantic situations like so—it could be why movies started doing this, discovering that the light shining through coloured curtains seemed to make those eternally beautiful paired with their slumber.

It looked like lavender; the light that caressed his lover’s inked skin. The man’s mouth parted, a slim trail of drool pooling from his lips. Ichigo shook his head, lowering himself back to the man’s shoulder. Tucking himself back against his side, fingers fanned out on top of fine robin egg blue hair that he’d have to wax from his chest sometime next week. A habit now, one built from prolonged rituals established in his youth.

Ichigo couldn’t care if the man was covered in that robin egg blue, furry enough to drown out the ink seeped into his skin. But Grimmjow wasn’t much of a hairy person—his arms and legs only dusted with the fine hairs. And he’d only seen the man trim his armpit hair three times during their whole relationship. If he did it more than that, Ichigo had no way of knowing for certain, other than the fact that he didn’t tend to clean up his hair until hours after he had cut it. Gross.

The man grunted beneath him, shifting in his sleep so he wrapped his far arm the slimmer man.

 **[** _They started off beneath the knowledge tree_  
And they chopped it down to make a picket fence  
And marching along the railroad tracks **]**

There were times when his once blue washed world would seep into red. Red of blood, red of anger—people would call the colour _passion_ , would label it _love_. Adoration. _Affection_. Red was not such colour in Ichigo’s world.

Red was pain. Red was death.

Red led, towing along the final ultimate shade. Things would fade to grey, would slowly seep out and staining everything in a solid heavy _black_. The absent. The hollow, the empty. Missing.

“ **FUCK!** ” Ichigo flinched, wincing at the clattering of cooking instruments slamming against cupboards, flooring. The tearing of paper towels, a spiel of constant angry muttering. The noise growing quieter as the situation was starting to part further into their past.

Ichigo’s fingers traced the corner, the archway leading into the kitchen, brows already furrowed. _Red_. Red of blood. Red smeared on the counter, spotted on the tiles, dripping from the man’s arm. Grimmjow frowned, nose scrunched up in annoyance. “We’re eating out—after I get stitches.”

He made his way into the trashed room; a knife sticking out of the wall under the cabinets, the oven now off, food forgotten or tossed on the floor if they were in the bowls. Flour spotted with red—red, red, _red_. He took his lover’s towel wrapped hand in his, peeling off the fabric and then the paper towel that he had wrapped around his wrist in efforts to keep the liquid from running. The cut was deep, missing all fingers and instead digging into the fleshy part on the outside of his palm under his pinky.

Deep and large; from nearly the base of his finger to his wrist.

“Fucking hell, Grimm.” Ichigo wrapped the towel back around the limb. Pulling the fabric tight in effort to slow the bleeding. “I don’t have anything to sew you up,” he cursed himself in the safety of his own mind. Scolding himself for not keeping any type of sewing instruments—or even a better medical kit.

The man grimaced; an attempt at a sheepish grin only to be ruined by another tightening of the cloth wrapped around his hand. “Hey, we can go to the steakhouse that you mentioned—right? I can go for some meat.”

 **[** _They smiled real wide for the camera lenses_  
As they made it past the enemy lines  
Just to become enslaved in the assembly lines **]**

“I’m surprised Little Red didn’t bitch about this,” the artist snorted, gloved hand laid against his shoulder. The buzzing of the tattoo gun finally stilled as Ichigo took a breather. It wasn’t large, wasn’t all that colourful either. The crisp black roman numerals were right up Renji’s alley but yet he had wanted Grimmjow to ink the design into his left shoulder blade.

A roman numeral fifteen tied together with solid chains, the ends crumpling from where they had been cut and then worn through years of erosion.

It had only been a matter of time before he had added the number fifteen somewhere on his body—it was his favourite number. Had been for as long as he could remember. On sports teams he’d always request the number, in the classroom for projects he’d volunteer to go fifteenth. It was a lucky number, one that he’d use for his benefit whenever he wasn’t feeling so hot about a thing or another.

“I’m paying for this in sex, or have you forgotten your demands?” Ichigo snorted, rolling his eyes at his lover’s remark. He just couldn’t help but make a jab at the other; he wasn’t discrete in the fact that Renji had done his other works.

 _“It’s a matter of **pride**. You, my partner, walking around in someone else’s brand of ink marred into your person_.” It had just sounded like a spiel of jealousy—one that Grimmjow actually, for once, did not deny. It wasn’t that the man was overtly jealous, the opposite was in fact far truer, but when the rare fits of the emotional would appear he’d firmly deny it. _“If you want ink you see **me**. Got it?” _

The blue haired man leaned in, pressing a kiss to the back of his lover’s neck. “I should thank you.” Which, seeing that Ichigo knew him, meant that he was in fact thanking him. Thanking him for allowing him to mark up the empty skin of his shoulder. Thanking him for trusting him enough to do so. Thanking him for allowing him to work on his lover instead of having another.

“Am I topping or you? ‘Cause as long as I’m not on my back I don’t care.” Ichigo hummed, arching his neck for another kiss. Grimmjow snorted, clicking his tongue against his teeth.

 **[** _Blue lips, blue veins_  
Blue, the color of our planet  
From far, far away **]**

The ceremony wasn’t big; only a couple of people. Family and close friends—no plus ones unless they too were close friends of either brides. They lingered at the church for a while, taking pictures and exchanging bone crushing hugs. “I’m so happy for you,” Ichigo whispered, clutching the voluptuous woman in his arms.

Orihime sniffed, “I’m such a wreck.” She whispered back, clutching the man whose life had been so interwoven with her own. She could call him a brother now—it felt like it. With each passing year that love that she had once harbored solidified into a different aspect. He was family—he’d always been.

“It’s a good wreck; you haven’t stopped smiling even though you and Riruka started bawling at each other during your vows.” The pair had met when Orihime was taking nursing studies. They were in a completely different program (Riruka was in for fashion and design) but happened to meet at the on campus cafeteria when a man was giving Orihime a hard time. Riruka had stepped in, chased him off and as thanks Orihime offered to by her lunch.

Orihime pulled back to smile, tears still gathered and bunched upon her lashes, “thank you.” Ichigo shrugged, reached back to rub at the back of his neck. He couldn’t fathom why she’d be thanking him. There was nothing to thank him for.

He was a friend of both Riruka and Orihime’s. He had been introduced to the other through Chad who had briefly been in a relationship with one of the people from that group of friends (Ichigo, for the life of him, couldn’t remember what her name was). Shortly even before even Orihime had met the woman—if the world wanted them to be together, they would’ve been eventually even if they hadn’t met that one random day—Riruka seemed to have a _thing_ for orange haired individuals if all the beat red faces and flailing limbs were anything to go from.

Both brides had worn beautiful gowns today; Riruka in black and pink, while Orihime’s dress was the archetypal white but with robin egg blue woven in patterns in the shapes of flowers. They truly did look stunning; even when Orihime eventually pried herself away to join her wife for photographs before leaving the church to the secondary photography location before joining the rest at the reception hall.

Ichigo joined Uryu and Chad off to the side, silently watching as both brides poised for picture after picture. The three of them had been asked to stay a while later for pictures before the wedding party went off to that secondary location. Originally the thought of Ichigo being in the wedding party had crossed not just his own mind by Orihime’s as well, but both Riruka as she tried to keep it _ladies only_ , and also… smaller seeing that Riruka didn’t have as many friends as Orihime.

But, you can’t blame the poor girl, not many people had as many friends as Orihime.

 **[** _Blue, the most human color_  
Blue, the most human color  
Blue, the most human color **]**

He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket when the met up, Ichigo’s arms wrapped tightly around torso, the jacket tossed over the back of a chair he spied had both his and his partner’s name on. The people _here_ , for the dinner, where more along the lines of the plus ones of the significant others who attended the wedding. The _reception_ reception was set to begin around 7 after all the eating and speeches were finished—which, despite not being in the wedding party, Ichigo was still _heavily suggested_ to make a speech.

“I hate weddings,” Ichigo grumbled into the man’s collar, “makes me actually want to get married.” It hadn’t used to be legal in Japan until late last year, and of course, Orihime and Riruka had pounced upon it with haste. But it wasn’t… engrained into Ichigo yet—that knowledge that he could actually finally get married (like his parents, like Orihime, like his other friends who were in heterosexual relationship).

“You know we _can_ , right?” Grimmjow’s voice rumbled, caressing his ear in that deep rasp of a voice. He chuckled, “though I don’t have a ring and, well, ain’t it insulting to purpose at a wedding?” His lips pressed to his warm cheek, growing hotter as the words slowly registered. Clicking finally into place.

Ichigo’s arms wrapped tighter, “I still don’t find finding your dirty socks balled up around the house endearing.”

Remembering those little peeves that married couples seemed to both hate and find endearing—not Ichigo. Those things were just _annoying_. He didn’t _care_ that the cats likes playing with Grimmjow’s socks, didn’t _care_ that it was a cheap toy for them to enjoy. He wanted those damn socks _put in the hamper_.

“Is that what it’ll take for you to marry me, huh?” the man snickered, rocking them in small swings of his hips. Left and right, left and right. “Then I guess I’ll have to set my ultimatum for not leaving your _boxers_ in the bathroom.” And he got him—he was just as bad, though at least his was just in the bathroom opposed to the whole apartment.

“You shit,” Ichigo grumbled back, leaning away from the embrace to press a quick peck to the man’s cheek.

Grimmjow smirked, “that’s me. A shit.”

 **[** _Blue lips, blue veins_  
Blue, the color of our planet  
From far, far away **]**

It seemed that either Orihime or the Universe wanted him to marry next ‘cause the woman pegged him in the head with her bouquet.


End file.
